


Naked

by DreamingTheMelody



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, I guess it's not AU?, I set out to write an itasasu from an outsider's perspective and I got this, Incest, M/M, More angst, ShiIta, Slash, also more angst, implied Itasasu, implied soulmarks, sorry - Freeform, timing isn't really...present in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingTheMelody/pseuds/DreamingTheMelody
Summary: It comes to Shisui, one day, when Itachi stumbles into anbu headquarters covered in blood, blinking away chakra exhaustion, and with a weariness that looks like it is tunneling deep into his bones—Itachi has never let him join him in the shower.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had started a canon-compliant itasasu (featuring the soulmark trope of course, because I'm a slut for that trope) before this, but then I read [this drabble](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5760273/1/Odor-sensitivity) and it loosely inspired me to start and finish this instead. Not really but kind of, I guess. 
> 
> So i've never even written for the Naruto fandom before now? Nevermind either of these pairings; I've just had an unhealthy obsession with itasasu that I'm just now acting on. 
> 
> so uh. I hope this isn't... awful.

After all of the times that they’ve fucked, Shisui has never seen Itachi naked. 

The realization, when it finally comes to him, is an unwelcome one. 

It was easy not to worry about such things at the beginning. Their relationship was forged in dark alleyways, in anbu locker rooms, and in under-the-table touches at clan dinners neither of them wanted to attend. It was built on lazy kisses, on hospital bedside vigils, and Itachi’s name constantly moving up and down his body—burning like fire, cutting like a kunai, seeping further and further into his soul. 

But it comes to him one day, when Itachi stumbles into anbu headquarters covered in blood, blinking away chakra exhaustion, and with a weariness that looks like it is tunneling deep into his bones—

Itachi has never let Shisui join him in the shower. 

He has never let Shisui join him in the shower, or let him sneak into his bedroom in the middle of the night and let him yank his anbu uniform off that lithe, powerful body to look for his name on Itachi’s skin. 

Itachi lets Shisui take his cock into his mouth, and fucks him up against the great, leafy Konoha trees after a particularly grueling mission, and sometimes, he’ll use the tip of his tongue or the pads of his fingers to trace his name where it appears on Shisui’s body—on his inner thigh, on the instep of his foot, on the inside of his wrist, and on the back of his neck. The press of Itachi’s pale fingers set words on fire in his veins. 

But Shisui has never been allowed or able to do the same thing, and the more time that he spends clinging to the forest branches, his eyes bleeding red into the sharingan as he watches Itachi behind him: clothed in crimson chakra and his uniform—always that damned uniform—he realizes it isn’t quite enough. 

He turns around and presses his lips to the corner of Itachi’s mouth, and reaches up to tangle his hands in the tie that holds Itachi’s hair back, and rubs up against Itachi’s muscled thigh, and it’s good, so good because Itachi’s teeth are on his neck and his knee is firm against his cock, and he’s burning, burning, burning like he’s being enveloped by Uchiha fire—

But when Shisui reaches for Itachi’s grey, flak jacket, he pulls away and gives him an annoyed look. 

“You never let me see you naked,” Shisui finally snaps, and he feels slightly off-kilter inside himself. He’s never felt the need to lash out at anyone like this before; he’s never felt the need to lash out at Itachi like this before. 

“I know that you aren’t embarrassed. You’re not that ridiculous—“

“Stop,” Itachi finally says, and Shisui doesn’t think he’s ever heard him look or sound this way until now. One hand is resting on the trunk of the oak Itachi has him pinned up against, but the other reaches up to hesitantly press a finger to the corner of Shisui’s lips. There is a furrow appearing in the middle of Itachi’s brow—

He looks—nervous, Shisui would say, if the idea of Itachi being nervous wasn’t so inconceivable. 

“Just stop,” he says again, and reaches under Shisui’s top to press his palm against the katakana that has now migrated to Shisui’s naval—burning, burning, always burning. He leans in, their noses rubbing together as he does so, and Shisui can smell strawberry pocky on Itachi’s breath and feels the silken strands of Itachi’s black, now-unbound hair tickling his arm. 

It would be so easy, he thinks, to do as Itachi says. There aren’t many secrets between the two, and Shisui can grant him this one, certainly. It is a fair trade, he thinks, if it means having Itachi like he can be: slicked fingers and flushed cheeks and a pleasant ache deep inside his body and soul. 

But this secret would be worse than any other, and Shisui can’t keep deluding himself, not when the evidence is all but staring him right in the face. 

“No,” Shisui says, before pushing Itachi away and shaking his head. “No. I’m tired of this. The least you could do is not string me along, Itachi. I don’t need this. I know they can be one-sided; I get that. You don’t have to keep—“ 

Itachi takes a few steps back, his ninja sandals perfectly balanced on the branch they are both occupying. He stares at Shisui with those black, bottomless eyes for what seems like an eternity before reaching for his jacket. 

Itachi strips like he does everything else: efficiently and almost too quickly. Shisui mostly wants this to be over with, but there’s a small part of him that doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want his world to come crashing down around him. He closes his eyes, distressed, and opens them again a few seconds later, because he couldn’t live with himself otherwise. 

The activation of his sharingan is involuntary, and he wants to turn it off, he does, but he can’t control his eyes, not now. Itachi is standing in front of him, and all Shisui can do is drink in the sight and burn it onto his irises, because even like this, he’s beautiful. His hair falls down along his shoulders and back—a contrast to his pale skin—and his body is sleek lines like he knew it would be. Shisui just wants to touch him—trail his knuckle along that sharp hipbone—use his tongue to trace the sparse line of hair that runs from above his naval to down around his cock—press his lips to Itachi’s pulse point, and then kiss lower, and lower, and lower—

But he can see it now, slightly off-center on Itachi’s chest so that it’s right above his heart—katakana that is bold and dark and too contrasting against Itachi’s skin. Shisui knows he doesn’t want to look, shouldn’t look, because it’s going to break him, he knows it will. But his eyes see it, and he reads it, and it is too late now. 

“I am sorry,” Itachi says, or that’s what Shisui thinks he says, but he can’t be too sure. He can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe because even now, he was expecting his name on Itachi’s skin, not—

Not Itachi’s little brother’s. 

“Shisui,” Itachi tries again, reaching forward to do what, Shisui doesn’t know, but his sharingan is still active—and isn’t that perfect? He will never forget the sight of Sasuke’s name on Itachi’s skin—so it is all too easy to duck away before he makes contact. 

Shisui blinks, shakes his head, and takes a deep, shuddering breath that he can feel all the way from the tips of his toes. “Fuck,” he whispers, and lets out the rest of his air in an explosive sigh. “I did not expect that.” 

Itachi nods, and Shisui feels like he’s been punched in the stomach; the constant lick of flames on his skin has been doused by ice water and unwanted clarity. 

For once, he isn’t burning, and he hates it.

**Author's Note:**

> For the longest time, I wasn't sure how to end this. Did I want Shisui to explain the itasasu dynamic that is implied here? What other emotions does he feel in time--aside from the heartbreak, of course? 
> 
> But then... I realized, this is angst, and sometimes hard emotions don't necessarily have a satisfactory ending. I'm not overly thrilled with this, but I'm not not, either. I think it works. 
> 
> Tell me what you think, if you feel so inclined!


End file.
